MEhODlES 

OF fl 

MODERN MUSE 




3y ALiBERT J. HEIU. 



fIDeloMee 



of 



H flDobern fllbuse 



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AliBEHT J. HEIIi. 



Copyright 1900 by Albert Joseph Heil. 



1900 

D. R. P. BARRY COMPANY, 
PITTSBURGH, PA. 



Library of Cofigroi|^ 

GfflCQ Gf tli9 

MAY 1 2 1900 

gegltter of Copyrtglitfe 
SECOND GOCY, 






62026 



PART L 



flMflTORlA. 



POETS WEDDING. 



/^NE morning fair, to the forest shady 
^^ I wandered forth with my sweet lady; 
Unto her there I faltering said: 

In this deep wood, love, let us wed. 

But she made answer sweet, replying, 
And all the while so gently sighing: 

We cannot wed in the forest, dear; 
For lo ! There is no witness here. 

Jack-in-the-Pu'ipit, ihat grave flower 
Shall bind us, love, in his secret-bower; 

And songful birds shall sweetly sing. 
When I give thee thy wedding-ring. 

in that cool wood, with thick leaves bedded, 
The Miise and I were stilly wedded; 

And gentle fairies and gay-clad flowers 
Were witnesses to that bond of ours. 

In Fancy's realm we have made our home, 
O pleasant 't is with the Muse to roam. 

And a faithful wife is the Muse to nte, 
For she bore me songs of Poesy. 



6 MELODIES OF 

BUTTERFLY AND FLOWER, 



Dutterfly past gardens fair 

Onward went aslrayingj 
Heeded not their beauty rare, 
For she would be playing. 

Flower said to Butterfly : 

Come, my lips are sunny ! 
I will paint thy wings while I 

Feed thee on sweet honey. 

But in vain the Flower sighed. 

For she would not listen; 
Light o'er hill and dale she hied; 

How her wings did glisten ! 

Thought, when ev'ning paints the West, 

Flower will be pleading; 
Then I'll get me couch and rest. 

On her honey feeding. 

Softly ev'ning hastened on, 

Butterfly had wandered; 
All her morning's cheer was gone^ 

All her beauty squandered. 



A MODERN MUSE. 

Now she bade the Flower cali 
Quickly on she hasted; 

Lo ! she found it withered all, 
And its splendor wasted ! 



Thou sweet maid who readest this, 
As thro' life thou goest; 

If thou taste not Lovers sweet bliss 
Nor Love's bidding doest; 

After years have hurried by. 

Thou again returnest; 
Dead and withered Love shall lie ! 

Vainly then thou yearnest. 



LOVE'S CASTLE IN THE AIR. 

/^OME with me, gentle maiden 
^^ To yonder grey old tower ! 
There 'neath the linden's umbrage, 

I've made for thee, thy bower. 
There let us sit the live-long day 

And keep young Love with us alway. 



MELODIES OF 

Or when the halls are glitt'ring 
With feasts and maidens fairy, 

I'll clasp thee to my bosom 
My love so blithe and airy. 

And we shall dance to harpists' tune 
Thro' all the golden summer-noon, 

I come, O youthful lover 

To yonder gray old tower; 
Where we shall hold high revels 

Until the midnight hour. 
And I thy princess fair shall be 

If thou wilt be the knight to me. 

But when they reached the hillside, 
Where stood the tower gigantic? 

And where the halls all glitt'ring, 
And where the bower romantic? 

Alas, for youth and maiden fair ! 

Blind Love had built them in the air. 

So Love, thou vain deceiver, 
Dost fill us with bright dreams; 

Thou paint'st the future golden. 
But ah ! It only seems. 

Yet Constancy, a virtue too, 

Oft makes the dreams come fondly true. 



A MODERN MUSE. 9 

IMMORTAL LOVE AND PSYCHE. 



l/'ISS her cheek, while yet 't is warm 

With health — a charming power ! 
Death will fan away that charm 
In one brief solemn hour. 

Meet her eyes while they are bright 
With buoyant hopes and pleasures ! 

Death, the spend-thrift, maketh light 
Of those her pearly treasures. 

Love her heart while it doth beat 

With womanly devotion. 
Death comes onward stern and fleet 

To end its pleasant motion. 

Take these, Death, thou call'st them thine ! 

Still love has life undying; 
Love lives by her soul divine 

Beyond thine arrows flying. 

Ah, in vain thine ev'ry art 

From Psyche Love to sever. 
Psyche fears no mortal dart, 

And Love shall live forever ! 



MELODIES OF 
TO STELLA. 



B 



E thy life a path of flowers; 

Sip new pleasures from each day I 
Health and comfort gild thine hours, 
As the years pursue their way ! 

Thou fair child of happiness, 
Let care ply her own wild oars; 

Thou art made to love and bless, 
Thou art born for happier shores. 

SAPPHO ON THE LEUCADIAN ROCK. 



Sappho was a Greek poetess, who lived about 450 
B. C. Because she was rejected by Phaon, whom she 
loved, she is said to have hurled herselt from the 
Leucadian rock, into the sea. 

/^'ER western sky has twilight sped 

And Heaven's tears tell day is fled. 
The toiling sea alone is waking, 
The world about its rest is taking. 

There, on the rock, all sad, alone, 
Sweet Sappho doth her fate bemoan; 
Her tresses with the winds are playing, 
While she unto herself is saying: 



A MODERN MUSE. 11 

I shall not stay ! This life full-blown 
With lust and and pride, let harlots own ! 
I seek the sphere, where Psyche lonely 
Might find pure love and pure love only. 

I dare not bid my passion rise, 
For woman seldom is so wise 
To hold fair virtue in her courses, 
When love to Lust doth lend his forces. 

Hence Phaon, let me kill my Love, 
Lest me to shameful wrong it move. 
Here, ere the waves my form shall cover, 
I dream once more of thee, my lover, 

Thus spake the nymph, then death embraced, 
The mad waves wildly onward chased 
With roaring noise and wailing clam'rous, 
As if, of her, they had grown am'rous. 

Lo ! Soft the breeze did touch the strings ! 
Her harp gave forth sad murmurings. 
Then silence o'er the scene descended. 
Where Sappho's life and love had ended. 



MELODIES OF 
LIFE AND LOVE. 



I IFE and Love are linked together 

And if Love you take away, 
Like the plant in fev'rish weather, 
Life will sicken and decay. 

But in union linked remaining 
As our vines to oaks do cling, 

Such is Nature's wise ordaining, 
Richest produce forth they bring. 



WHERE THY HEART, THERE THY 
TREASURE. 

UAIRY maid, what treasures fine 

Lie enclosed in that rich mine, — 
Snowy, lovely breast of thine ! 

I shall steal the richest part — 
Thy young, noble, virtuous heart; 
Where thy heart is, there thou art. 



A MODERN MUSP]. 13 

THE ARAB'S SERENADE. 



UAIR Fateing, watchest nightly, 

Love-lit eyes, that gleam so brightly ! 
Blest of Nature, who as dow'ry 
Gave thee cheeks, like lily fair, 
Breath as sweet as Ceylon's air, 
Witching form and raven hair, 
Happy Moslem houri ! 

Will thou be, O Islam's flower, 
Sharer of my wealth and power, 
I shall give thee rarest treasures : 
Silks and furs from Hindoostan, 
Fruits from towered Ispahan, 
All that lover's ardor can 
For his loved one's pleasures. 

Thou shalt dwell by rocky fastness. 
While I scour the sandy vastness, 
On my charger, much caressed, 
Harassing the caravan. 
Ah, with pride the scene I scan ! 
King am I, o'er beast and man, 
Allah, I am blessed ! 



[ MELODIES OF 

Though there blow not Syria's roses, 
Where our rock-built home reposes, 
Yet thy smile shall make it flow'ry. 
For the Heav'n of old Mahound 
Can not be a fairer ground, 
Than the spot where thou art found 
Houri, Moslem houri ! 



TO A NURSE IN ALLEGHENY 
GENERAL HOSPITAL. 

A RT thou some fairy come 
Fresh from thy ferny home, 
With magic art to heal 

The pains which mortals feel? 
Truly thy light step and voice 
Make the stricken ward rejoice. 

The patient on his bed, 

With welcome, hears thy tread; 
For some kind heart must beat, 

To steps of willing feet. 
Fair one, who can understand 
The magic of thy soft hand? 



A MODERN MUSE. 1! 

Ah, I have felt it, when 

In fever's dreaded den, 
It felt my helpless arm 

To learn what spite or harm 
Sickness there had slowly wrought, 
Who m poor me a victim sought. 

But thy kind care and skill, 

Made me triumphant still : 
Some knighf in tournament, 

Whose lady's smile hath lent 
Double strength 'gainst foeman's steel, 
— Thus, kind angel, did I feel. 

And though the fever's heat 

Hath left its wonted seat, 
Yet if my throbbing pulse 

Thy willing h^nd consults, 
Bending o'er me — face above, 
Thou shalt find me sick w th love. 



MELODIES OF 

THE IRON GATE. 

AJS/HEN I see yon iron gate 

I think again of Kate; 
Ah ! Winsome, lovely, pretty, 

Was she, my angel Kitty. 
When I see yon iron gale, 

I think again of Kate. 
For 'twas here when day grew late, 

My darling used to wait; 
While on her bosom snowy 

The roses were so showy. 
And 'twas here when day grew late, 
My darling used to wait. 
O, here often did we meet 

To hold our parley sweet. 
While gentle stars of even 

Were courting m the Heaven. 
O, here often did we meet 
To hold our parley sweet. 
Now my heart is filled with gloom; 

Kate sleepeth in her tomb; 
Where lilies blow above her. 

She waiteth for her lover. 
Still my heart is filled with gloom; 
Kate sleepeth in her tomb. 



A MODERN MUSE. 17 

THE BIRTH OF DAY. 



AX/ HY this breaking in the East? 

Hold the gods some merry feast? 

'Tis Aurora, blushing red, 
Hasting on with nimble tread. 

Wanton Phoebus love — oppressed, 
Seeks to draw her to his breast. 

Skilled with kisses to allure, 
Makes of her his paramour. 

Hear rejoicings on the earth, 
From their union Day has birth. 

^^©^ 
TO EMMA AND HER VIOLIN. 



W 



HAT is the wooden wooer saying, 

So gently praying, sighing, praying, 
Like to lover's vague unrest? 

O dulcet ,meilow, violin, 
Thou liest kissed by her soft chin, 
On her meek, her maiden breast. 



MELODIES OF 

O tell her to keep on a-playing, 
That youthful hours are best for Maying, 
Youth and love make happy Spring. 

Still violin, I envy thee; 
If thy soft couch were such to me, 
Truly then, I too would sing. 



M 



O 



LOVE AND OCEAN. 

AIDEN, maiden take my love, 
And love the cheerful giver; 
Never failing is Love's stream, 
But constant as the river. 

Findeth not the wanted rest, 
Till it doth reach that ocean — 

Thy fair breast with purity, 
Begemmed and deep devotion. 



A BOLD BEGGAR. 

HEART, what knocking at thy door I 

I hear an infant's clamor, 
Haste, open thou, and shelter give; 

I think 'lis little Amor. 
Scarce ope the door when in he came, 

With vehement desire. 
I gave a corner of my hearty 

Lo ! He did start a fire. 



A MODERN MUSE. 19 

CYNTHIA'S CONSTANCY. 



CAIR Cynthia, watchful nurse of night. 

In silver robes a queen bedight, 

Thou playest with each favorite star, 

While Heaven's dome is lit afar. 

And Phoebus from Eforts hears 

Thy beauty praised; then boldly steers 

Thy bower toward; thou vail'st thy face, 
And dost escape his warm embrace. 

So thou art faithful to the night, 

Thou boldest Phoebus from thy sight, 

And guard'st thy stars so motherly, 
Fit emblem, then, of constancy. 



o 



LOVE'S DEVOTION. 

WOULD I were a rose ! 
That I might then repose, 
On thy breast recline, 
Maiden Evaline ! 



That I might hear the sighs 
That from thy boiom rise — 

Snowy breast of thine, 
Witching Evaline! 



MELODIES OF 

Or would I were the air ! 

That I might oft repair 
To those cheeks of thine, 

Rosy E valine ! 

Or would I were the mead ! 

That I might feel the tread 
Of those feet so fine. 

Graceful Evaline ! 

Or would I were the lace 

Which doth thy neck embrace,- 
Ivory neck of thine. 

Blue-eyed Evaline ! 

Then, if I were thy tomb, 
I'd make the lilies bloom, 

O'er that grave of thine, 
Virgin Evaline. 



SONG OF THE ROVER. 

''T'WAS by the murmuring brooklet, 
That I did Emma meet. 
And she had hastened thither, 
To bathe her snow-white feet. 



A MODERN MUSE. 21 

Softly sang the maples, blue-bells whispered 

low, 
When Emma, peerless Emma^ to the brook 
did go. 

She was lovely as a fairy, 

As timid as the fawn; 
The sweetest, gentlest maiden, 
The sun e'er shone upon. 
Round her graceful neck did flow her browny 

tresses. 
While zephyrs kissed her cheek with passion- 
ate caresses. 

'Twas here I spoke to Emma, 

Thro' one sweet ev'ning hour. 
Until the moon, sweet mistress 
Sat in her starry bower. 
At last I took her with me. Emma fair and 

sweet, 
When she had bathed her tender, dainty, 
snow-white feet. 



MELODIES OF 

TO E. M. B. 

'T'ELL me not of wood-land faries, 
Whose fresh beauty never varies, 
In their sylvan haunts all shady ! 

I know one, who fairer still, 
Doth my breast with longing fill, 
And my heart with rapture thrill — 
Emma, my sweet lady ! 

Ah, fond love, I hear thee sighing, 
In my moments fleet and trying, 

When o'er field, thro' wood I'm straying, 
And thy lovely form doth ase, 

Unto mine exultant eyes. 
Like a soul from Paradise, 
Or an angel praying. 

Thy sweet voice, it still is singing, 
In my soul its echoes ringing. 

As of yore in wintry season; 

Ah, 'twas then while winds did blow, 

And without lay drifting snow, 

That my heart, with love did glow, 
Wilt thou know the reason ? 



A MODERN MUSE. 23 

Thy sweet blushes, fondest fairy, 
Smiles angelic, like St. Mary, 
In my breast did love enkindle. 

Thy mild eyes are calm and blue, 
Maiden's heart is young and true. 
And, my love, I swear anew, 
Emma shall not dwindle ! 

So, meek dove, we'll live together, 
Foul or fair may be the weather, 

Thou shalt be my wealth, my gem. Ah, 
Loved one with the light brown hair, 

To thine arms let me repair. 
For I find my Heaven there, 
Darling, my own Emma ! 



MY FLOWER. 

SOUGHT a flower from the bower 

Where Rose stood dreamy-eyed. 
Then fell a-weeping, o'er the creeping 
Ivy; thus I sighed: 

Could she discover, how I love her, 

O may some fairy tell, 
In mists of sorrows, thro' all aiorrows, 

Joyous I would dwell. 



MELODIES OF 

And there is rapture in the capture 

Of maiden's sinless heart; 
Of bright eyes beaming, softly dreaming, 

Loved one will not part. 

Fair Rose's tresses by caresses 

Of gentle winds were wooed; 
Round her chastened form there hastened 

Twilight solitude. 
Her lips, so rosy, held a posy; 

She seemed some woodland fay. 
Down dropped the flower from her power. 

Lo ! I heard her say : 

Thou seek'st a flower from my bower; 

Well, youth, pray name it me ! 
Wilt thou a lily for thy stilly 

Chamber's guest to be ? 

No flower rarer and none fairer 
Than thou thyself, sweet maid ! 

Where thou art planted are enchanted ' 
Realms of pleasure laid. 

Lo ! Bosom swelling, to my dwelUng, 

In yon meek vale's repose, 
I bore that flower; to this hour 

Lovely blooms my Rose. 



A MODERN MUSE. 25 

MANY SINS ARE FORGIVEN HIR, FOR SHE HAS LOVED MUCH. 

CAMILLE. 

HTHIS is her grave; thou prudish world, 
Veil not thine eyes and shun the sight ! 
What though to wanton ranks she hurled 
Her beauty, and made bright the night? 

Perfection never yet did crown 
The actions of a single wight. 

The rose is hardly yet half-blown 
When insects eat with venom-bite. 

And Nature never meant we should 
Stand faultless to her searching eye; 

An evil oft may bring a good, 
Repentance causes joy on high. 

So plant white lilies o'er her dust, 
And let her sleep the virgin's sleep ! 

What though she smiled on fickle Lust, 
Dost know how often she did weep ? 

Tread softly by her silent frame. 

Once animated by a touch ! 
She was of clay, thou art the same. 

But critic, hast thou loved as much? 



26 MELODIES OF 

TO EMMA ON HER NINETEENTH 
BIRTHDAY, NOV. 5th, 1899. 

CTHERIAL music wake the pallid sky, 
And mirthful let the fleeting moments fly ! 
For Emma stands to-day, a peerless queen 
Of comely, fair nineteen. 

Old mother. Earth can boast of none more 

fair 
Than thee, sweet love, and excellency rare; 
Nor maid nor sylvan fairy can be seen 
More fair at sweet nineteen ! 

Time planted thee, my b)essed, winsome 

flower. 
And made the sweeter ev'ry little hour; 
So thou art matchless, Love to-day, I ween 
At happy, gay nineteen ! 

O hear the call of dreary, chill November ! 
How stands the blood in ev'ry single mem- 
ber ! 
Yet near Love's hearth-stone thou dost 
friendly lean 
At gladsome, full nineteen ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 27 

Hence let the winds sweep by ! Thy love- 
warmed heart 
Is still most warm and modest; maid thou 

art 
As constant as the changeless evergreen 
At rosy, sweet nineteen. 

Though luckless now the rosy fingered 

Spring, 
To thee doth not her scented garlands bring 
To deck thy lovely maiden brow serene, 
At ever-loved nineteen ! 

Yet Autumn blesses thee with hyssop rain; 
November smiles and counts it as a gain 
O'er other months, that thy fair natal day 
Comes neath his ri,.gid sway. 

And matchless Emma at thy happy birth 
The stars looked envious at their sister 

Earth. 
So let thy poet-lover hold him blest, 
When on thy virgin-breast, 

His chestnut- browny locks shall softly lie; 
There will he dream his dreams of earth and 
sky; 



28 MELODIES OF 

And think it Heav'n to own each single 
J. art 
Of Emma's pure chasts heart. 

And love^ live long! Thy life be full of 

blisses ! 
And let me have to-day my share of kisses, 
Their number? Well pray count me not so 

mean 
If I should ask nineteen. 



TO A FLIRT. 



T ITTLE blue-eyed Elsie, 
Oh, I love you so, 
Teach me liftle maiden, 
All your heart to know ! 

Let me gaze upon it; 

'Tis a book, I swear ! 
Let me see if Amor 

Wrote some story there. 

Has he woven, darling, 
Your sweet name and mine 



A MODERN MUSS. 

In some tale romantic? 
How the letters shine ! 

Ah ! I see you will not 
Let me read Love's tale: 

So I'll play Love's critic, 
Call the story stale! 



YOUTH AND MAID. 

Youth. CWEET Mx\ID, whither go'st 

"^ thou? 
Maid. But to the brow 

O' yonder hill. 
Youth. There, 

Where the hut stands? Fair 
Flower, may I walk with thee? 
Maid. The night comes hastily. 

The way is steep, good youth, 
My hut is poor; in truth — 
Youth. Ah ! Here the trees are tall ! 
How calm the evening ! All 
Nature rests. Could not Love dwell 
here 



30 MELODIES OF 

Where Sorrow sheds no tear? 
Hold ! Give me thy basket, maid ! 
Where hast thou laid 
Thy burden? 

Fair youth, thou canst not bear it. 

Voung Love with me shall share it. 

Well, then, if it be thy will. 

Now let us up this hill. 

{Enter A??ior.^ 

What infant have I spied ? 
Who is it at thy side 
Borne on golden wings? 
See how he clings 
To the burden ! 

This child 
Is Love, or Cupid styled. 
Oft hath he on flowered heights. 
Where gods partake of strange de- 
lights. 
Pierced the heart of Jove. 

Maid. Youth, beware ! This Love 
Has bow and dart ! 
Too late ! He hath hit my heart ! 



Maid. 

Youth. 
Matd. 

Youth. 

Maid. 



Youth. 



A MODERN MUSE. 31 

Youth. Sweet maid, we both are prisoners 

now, 
Beneath Love's yoke, obedient bow. 
And though Love's captives both are 

we, 
O 'tis a sweet captivity ! 



DARING DAN CUPID. 

ONCE besieged a maiden's heart 

With sighs full oft repeated; 
But all my efforts were in vain, 

So I in shame retreated. 

I gazed upon mine armies fine 

Of arts and words. O pity ! 
For not a single one prevailed 

To take that stubborn city. 

At last I met a straying boy, 
Who seemed to me so stupid; 

Bright wings had he, and bow and dart, 
His name was young Dan Cupid, 



S2 MELODIES OF 

•'What wilt thou give" said he to me^ 
"If I should take its towers? 

My wings can place me on its walls, 
In less than two short hours." 

"If thou can'st make" I smihng said, 
"That maiden's heart surrender; 

I'll let thee live with us alway, 
And treat thee good and tender." 

Lo ! Love flew o'er its battlements, 

Nor did he sink nor tire. 
Till he had stormed that maiden's heart, 

And set it all on fire. 

It yielded soon itself to me 

With all its pearls and treasures. 

And I am now its happy king 
And live in golden pleasures. 

So here I sing: Long live this Love, 
Whom I had thought so stupid ! 
Long live that heart which I did get 
Thro' daring young Dan Cupid ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 33 

THE HAUNTED LOVER. 

A S actor Day departs and Night her curtain 

raises, 
When all the quiet city with million arc-lights 

blazes, 
Then softer than the zephyr a figure glides 

before me, 
Her shroud of midnight blackness, a lonely 

fear throws o'er me. 
I can but murmur faintly — fright doth make 

me shiver, 
Why com'st thou spirit? Whither go'st thou, 

whither? 
My echo dies away; her faint lips seem to 

quiver: 
Love, love, love ! Love has brought me 

hither ! 

Lo ! Midnight hails the morn in yonder 

gothic tower, 
But still that gorgeous phantom holds me in 

her power. 
Away, away ! I whisper. Her breast of ether 

hollow 
Breathes forth sepulchral wailing and bids me 

softly follow. 



34 MELODIES OF 

She leads me thro' the streets; she hath my 

soul enchanted; 
Again I ask: O whither lead'st me, whither? 
She answers soft : To yonder where the dead 

are planted, 
Love, love, love ! Love has borne me thither ! 

She leads me to a grave; green myrtle twines 
above it, 

"A tiny wooden cross ! A blessed name ! I 
love it ! 

Amanda ! Fickle heart we long ago had 
buried; 

O bride of Death to his embrace so quickly 
hurried !" 

One plaintive sigh ! and lo ! The spectre has 
departed ! 

To spirit-land? To hell or heaven? Whither? 

"We know not that," — the winds and hem- 
locks moaned sad- hearted 

"But love, love, love has brought her hither !" 



A MODERN MUSE. 



AMOR AND THE POET. 

^'^RITICS scoff not at these verses ! 
^''^ Th' amorous Muse to me did lend them. 
They are meant for maiden bowers; 
Thither straightway would I send them. 

Need I fear a critic's phrases 
While young Amor 'round me hovers ? 
I^et me sing sweet maiden's praises; 
Poets ever were besl lovers. 




PART IL 



PENSflTORlfi. 



A MODERN MUSE. 
THE POET'S JOYS. 



B 



With perpetual nectar swelling, 
Fancy, take thy lawful fill ! 
Taste eachclassic pool and rill 
Of the gods' own land of pleasures; 
Art's fair homestead, land of treasures ! 
Give dame Muse a consort's kis - ! 
Fear not Fancy thou to Liorrow; 
Here to-day and there to-morrow, 
O the poet's life is bliss ! 

Winding down with artful Venus 

With sweet Music staid between us 
All the world is one fair dream: 
Golden landscape, silver stream, 
Mirth and laughter then may follow, 
Then come stately, wise Apollo. 
O ye^ods, what land is this ? 
Even echo solitary 
Wantons with the satyr hairy, 
O the poet's life is bliss ! 

Then let Mars, his trumpet sounding. 
Set the hi' Is and vales rebounding ! 
See the valiant ranks pass by 



40 MELODIES OF 

Clad in dazzling Panoply; 
While old Fame comes onward grandly 
Smiling on the victor blandly 

"Who would all this splendor miss? 
Seated with the great immortals, 
Entered at Olympian portals, 
Poet, true, thy life is bliss. 



MYSTERIOUS ECHO. 

C CHO, plaintive Echo quit thy lonely cave ! 
Seek my merry bower, dance the rippling 

wave ! 
Why so sullen dwell'st in yon deserted glen? 
Why so constant would'st thou shun the 

haunts of men? 

Dost thou mourn, sweet spirit, some dead 

buried love? 
Why so lonely keep'st thee in yon wood 

above ? 
Prithee, answer give, for I would mortals tell, 
Why in solitude thou wilt forever dwell. 

Dost not answer me? Then fare thee well 
sweet fay ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 41 

Lonesome keep thee ever ! Mock we not 1 

pray ! 
Hold thy peace, be still ! Lo ! From the 

wooded hill 
Echo answers gently: Hold thy peace be still ! 



THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

C EE yonder gleaming marbles 

By sleepy river's bed; 
And mountains guarding meekly 
That City of the Dead ! 

Nor life nor cares are dwellers 
In yonder gray old town, 

For Death has thrown upon it 
His talismanic gown. 

Friend wouldst thou quit thy labors, 
And all thy cares and woes, 

And wrap thine earthly sorrows 
In that still land's repose? 

First must thy heart stand silent, 
Refuse life-giving breath, 

First must thou grasp in friendship, 
The gruff, cold hand of Death. 



42 MELODIEy OF 

Then 'neath yon fading arches, 
We'll bear thee to thy tomb, 

And think thy soul is happy 

Where flowers perennial bloom. 

And then with tears and prayers 
We'll lay thee gently down, 

And leave thee soft to slumber 
In yonder silent town. 

But, when the Angel's trumpet 
Shall wake thee in thy bed, 

May'st thou foi-sake, in glory. 
That City of the Dead. 



METAMORPHOSIS OF THE SNOW- 
FLAKE. 

OORN in Heaven ! Innocence! 

Crue! Winter drives thee thence; 
Snow-flnke, Snow-flnke earthward falling, 
Hear'st thou not bright spirits calling? 

See'st the sun in yonder sky? 

Now he bids thee sad good-bye. 
Then thou weepest, Heaven's daughter, 

Till thou art all tears, all water. 



A MODERN MUSE. 43 

THE RULE OF LIFE. 

y F thou hast thy task to do, 
^ Do it with a will; 
If the water runneth not, 
Stands the mill-wheel still. 

Sing the song with heart and soul, 

Thro' the live'Jlong day; 
Let thy life be here on earth, 

One continuous lay. 

Then astonished, thou shalt find 

All thy cares disarmed. 
And Uke Orpheus see the world 

All about thee charmed. 



CONSOLATION. 

CWEET goddess, who with heav'nly art 

Dost balsam pour upon the heart 
With sorrow laden, nurse divine, 
Now let me seek that lap of thine ! 
And drink new courage from thy breast 
My soul is sad; I fain would rest. 



[ MELODIES OF 

FRIENDSHIP. 

CRESH'NING heaven-sent dew-drop 

Sparkling on the blade; 
Cheered by thy light footstep 

Fields are happier made. 
Helpful, soothing Friendship 

On life's lonely plain 
Makest drooping bosoms 

Soon revive again ! 



THROUGH THE MISTS. 

ET me stir the ashes of the Past, 
' Stir them just once more, 
Ere Time's night-shades, falling fast 

Dim the land of yore. 
Come, bright thought that shall inflame 

My drooping heart anew ! 
Ah ! I have it — Emma's name ! 

I sit and dream of you. 

Fair, sweet spirit of my childhood days, 

Ah, I sec her yet ! 
Snow-white mantle, smile whose rays 



A MODERN MUSE. 4 

I cannot soon forget; 
Happy playmate, come I pray 

To flow'ry meads and brooks; 
Come and cheer my dreary day 

With your bright sunny looks ! 

No, it cannot be. You are not here, 

For when your years were eight, 
Your sweet spirit left this sphere 

For Heaven's far-off gate; 
Left her mould so sweet and good 

Without a pain or si;j;h. 
And if angels only could 

Thy death would angels die. 

When I quit this troubled realm of life 

And strike your happy shore, 
Sin-free, cleansed, for blessings rife 

greet me as of yore ! 
Snow-white mantle, smile whose ray 

Will teach me not to fret — 
God, I thank thee ! Some bright day 

1 shall be happy yet. 



:i^S^ 



46 MELODIES OF 

ADDRESS TO PEACE. 

^~\ PEACE, sweet guardian of the world 

Who with thy snowy flag imfurled 
From heavenly heights descendest 

Erring man thine aid thou lendest; 
Lovely queen, serene, benign, 
Full of wisdom, all divine, 
Keep the erring nations. 
Free from desolations ! 
Round thy throne tney gathered are. 
Keep fiuai them the demon'— War. 



ON BISMARK'S DEATH. 

'T'HOU fallest, mighty oak: thy giant form 

Oft braved and long by opposition's storm, 
At Death's unerring touch doth gently yield. 
Farewell, great Teutoii, born w,i;h strength to 

wield 
Old Prussia's iron hommer, and to shape 
Germania fair anew ; where sweet the grape 
Doth mirror in the Rhinish water till 
Where roaring North Sea doth his fury S] ill I 
Against the Danish shore, there hath thy hand 



A MODERN MUSE. 47 

Untiring wrought and left an empire stand. 
Nor less thy praise that straying, fair "fierraine 
And mild Alsatia back to Allemaine 
Hast boldly called. So may the German oak 
O'er thy cold corse extend his liberal cloak 
Of leaves; thine be no tomb from civil pelf ! 
Thy monument— The German Empire's self. 

LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER. 

C VVEETEST Summer, thou nrt gone ! 
Thy breath the ruthless north wind 
stole; 
No sigh rose from thy fleeing soul 
But one sv/eet smile did rest upon 
Thy faded !ins ! 
Calm thy death, though thou didst know 

That floral fields, which thou mp.d'st bloom 
Would shed no odors o'er tby tomb, 
(For Autumn tells of coming woe 
And hoar-frost nips.) 
Sweeter thou than Spring, for lo! 
She flirteth in coquettish way. 
Nor brings, in truth, a perfect day; 
For much of Winter's blood doth flow 
Her Virgin-veins. 



48 MELODIES OF 

But in thee dwells gentleness; 

And valued service thou dost give : 
Thou op'st thy granary; nations live; 

Nor reckest if they fail to bless 
Thy many pains. 

Kindest daughter of the year ! 

And mankind's liberal nurse and friend ! 
With death thy charities do end; 

Hast scarce fulfilled thy mission here, 
When thou must die ! 

Summer let me learn of thee 

In life to scatter gen'ious deeds, 

In death glad smiles; no earthly meeds 
To seek; then pass with conscience free 
Without a sigh. 

DEATH OF SUMMER. 

A LREADY doth the day his visits shorten, 
Who erstwhile did such mirth display, 
when June 
Yet stood in loveliness and yonder sun 
Less warmly breathes upon our earth; for lo! 
Sad Nature's voice doth herald Summer's 
death. 



A MODERN MUSE. 49 

The fields stand stricken by the news which 

fast 
O'er hill and dale is borne; the mighty wood 
Once cheerful, singeth now more plaintive, lo • 
The sylvan choir has ceased its Summer-con- 
cert, 
In other climes to feast; the burdened 

orchards 
Now change their robes and fruits stunned by 

the news 
Fall from the drowsy tree, and Heaven's self 
Doth weep unusual tears, for see, the leaden 
Stcy will not ask comfort of the Sun, 
Eut pours his grief upon the maddened brooks, 
Which rushing wildly on, past brush and vale, 
Bear injury with them. See, yonder swain 
Wipes from his brow the salty sweat, the 

while 
With sadness he doth view the drooping 

fields. 
The sportive child there at his side doth catch 
The universal sorrow and puts on 



50 MELODIES OF 

A graver mien. The mother with her child 
Now homeward turns and scans the cordial 

house, 
In which too soon cold Winter shall detain 
Her prisoner; the maiden, that with fairy 
Tread did walk the grassy lawn and nurse 
Her darling flowers, flits sadly by, as if 
Young Love thrived not in Winter's arms. 

A shock 
Of sadness shakes the frame of sentient things! 
O thus is Summer mourned! Thus too, O 

man, 
Shalt thou be mourned, if, in thy day, thou 

makest 
Righteousness bring forth her welcome fruit I 
Thus too shalt thou be wept! And drooping 

friends 
Shall gather round thy tomb and tearful sayr 
He was a man of ready hand; his days 
With charities he filled; now calm and blissful 
Be his sleep! 



A MODERN MUSE. 51 



CORS POETAE. 



r\ POET S heart ! O poet's heart ! 
By cruel cares tormented art ! 
And tossed about in wicked fashion 
Upon the hungry sea of passion. 

O poet's heart ! Thou poet's heart, 

Full oft dost feel the burning smart 
Of injured pride and love's rejection, 

In sober moments of reflection. 

Thou poet's heart, thou poet's heart 
Meek vessel thou and ample mart; 

To what glad land dost steer thy treasures, 
Thy native joys and dreamed pleasures? 

Thou poet's heart, thou poet's heart, 
Thou drifting vessel, onward dart ! 

And when life's storms have sunk thee under; 
When thou art gone, the world will wonder. 



52 MELODIES OF 

TO THE MEMORY OF W. E. 
GLADSTONE. 



T O ! Death has from our ranks a leader 

stolen; 
Whose voice spake peace and praised the 

course ot justice. 
Where antique England sits securely guarded 
By gallant ocean's waves, one universal 
Cry is heard : Wise Gladstone fell ! Fell not 
By cursed assassin's steel, but by the hand 
Of watchful death. Thou mighty sun, whose 

setting 
Was as thy course of life — serene and bright. 
And meek Hawarden mourns thee now. O 

voice 
All potent as the wind, which hastens on 
And bears th' unwilUng branches onward. 

Whether 
In Parliament, loud, free and joyous sangst 
The note of justice or in the household circie 
Soothing — helpful — thou wast welcome ! Eng- 
land, 
Made rich by his bequeathing — honesty 
And righteousness of heart, go set the nations 
Thy fair sisters, meet example ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 53 

EVENING SENTIMENT. 



O 



'ER the woodland, 
O'er the fields 
Ev'ning fair and gentle 
Sceptre wields; 
And the brooklets seem to say: 
Fare thee well, O dying Day ! 
On the village 
On the roofs. 
Sun so softly sets his 
Golden hoofs : 
Slowly then he sinks to rest 
In the curtain-gilded West. 

Yet the birds sing 
Ev'ning hymns; 
Flatt'ring zephyrs kissing 
Trembling limbs. 
Still is then the atmosphere ; 
In the sky the lights appear. 
Yet my soul doth 
Musing wake. 
Quiet lies o'er 

Valley, hill and lake. 
Come, my soul, lie down^to dreams 
While life still so happy seems. 



54 MELODIES OF 



BRYANT. 



\^/HAT spirit stirs among the mountain- 
groves, 
And turns to alchemy whate'er it moves? 
Now hov'ring by the flowry streaa.let's side, 
Now lost upon the prairie deep and wide; 
Or blessing in the forest grand and old 
The Makers wisdom — powers manifold? 
It is thy spirit, Bryant ! Thy great soul, 
With poesy o'er charged could not control 
'Mid city's din, her fury; hence she flees 
To wilds sublime, where giant hills and trees 
And roaring waters enter in thy dreams. 
O mighty bard ! How sounding are the streams 
In that rich land of thine ! In thee we hail 
First favorite of the native Muse; the trail 
To Poesy's fair land thou struckest first 
Of all our home-born bards; how brightly 

burn'st 
The light of thy full genius on the throng, 
As with grandeur, fatherly along 
The ever-pleasant fields of Nature thou 
Did'st lead; on thee sat Homer's fertile brow ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 55 

The bearded sage of antique Dane looked not 
More powerful. Now though old Death, who, 

caught 
By thy rich strains, such master sought to win, 
Did tear thee from thy harp; yet still, within 
Our circle doth thy spirit live and bound 
With awe, we know not how thy praise to 

sound. 



IF INWARD THE HEART BE BRIGHT, 

T^HE wild winds howl, 
The snow-drifts scowl, 
Like ghosts in the darksome night ! 
The white church-tower 
Tells midnight hour, 
And demons are loose to fright. 

Now loud the moan 
Of North Wind's groan, 
As if of a dying wight; 
My window shakes,' 
\ Thick fall the flakes, 

But inward the hearth burns bright. 



56 MELODIES OF 

Thus cry life's cares, 

And wild despairs, 
As 'round us the fall with might. 

But heed them not 

O happy lot — 
If inward the heart be light. 



LEGEND OF THE MARIGOLD. 

A T the tomb there sat the Virgin 
From her eyes the tears did start, 
And sad did sound the sobbing 

From the depths of her pure heart. 

And her tears fell like the dew-drops 
On the plants and flowers nigh; 

Which straightway bowed respectful. 
When they heard our Lady sigh. 

Now a tear fell on a thistle 
From the Blessed Mary's eye/ 

Lo ! It soon began to wither 
Till it seemed as if 'twould die. 



MODERN MUSE. 
And it said unto the Virgin, 

In these meek words and brief: 
May I not O gentle Lady, 

Be partaker in thy grief? 

See the wonder ! From the Heaven 

A glitt'ring angel sped; 
And he touched the drooping thistle, 

And then these words he said : 

Since thou would 'st be partaker 
In the Virgin's grief untold,. 

Be thou hence, O kindly Thistle, 
Be thou hence the Marigold! 

Now in all our flower-gardens, 

Its golden head appears; 
Still it greets the dews of morning. 

As the Virgin Mary's tears. 



MELODIES OF 
REVERIE IN A WOOD. 

TTESPER'S shadows fall 
O'er the plains and all 
The household cares are quiet now; 
I hear the watch-dog bark, 
While shadows weird and dark 
Do drive the sweat upon my brow. 
Soft these oaks narrate 
Legends of the fate 
Of red-skinned warriors of the wood : 
How they did seek the shade, 
Ere yet within the glade 
The haughty pale-face cottage stood. 
Warrior sought his bride, 
— Chieftain's light and pride — 
And built for her the wigwam free. 
How loud the war-whoop rang ! 
How bold the warrior sprang. 
When foemen threatened slavery ! 
Gone the mighty race ! 
Left no ling'ring trace, 
Save where the mossy mound stands high; 
Oi where the hunter's trail 
Still tells old freedoms tale; 
O God rain vengeance from the skies ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 59 

OLD PENNSY. 

IT AIL, mighty state, the keystone State ! 
Hail, ancient nurse of Freedom's fate ! 
For in the day of tyranny, 
Thy sister states looked up to thee, 
Old Pennsy! 

'Neath thy protection firm and true 
Sweet Liberty to beauty grew; 
And Independence, with full throat 
In thy glad ear first rang his note, 
Old Pennsy! 

The Union's cause was thy first ward; 
Thy willing sons its body-guard. 
How well they kept that trust for thee, 
Thy storied past shall witness be, 
Old Pennsy! 

For when rebellion's thunder-clap 
Cast Lee's brave legions on thy lap, 
How glad thy sons embraced the fray, 
The gleaming tomb-stones tell to-day, 
Old Pennsy. 



60 MELODIES OF 

Near Gettysburg, there lies a town, 
Where flowers weave the hero's crown; 
Here kind Remembrance thro' the years 
Shall strew the nation's saddest tears, 
Old Pennsy! 

Nor this alone, that vale and wood 
Are hallowed by our fatheri' blood — 
Thy mountain-chests have costly yields 
And Nature loves to feed thy fields, 
Old Pennsy! 

Where Industry hath built her nest, 
From coal-banked East to steel-clad West, 
The feet of Labor march along 
And Progress shouts her welcome song, 
Old Pennsy! 

Throughout this globe, by land and sea. 
Are thousand fabrics born of thee; 
These are thy pride, th y mighty boast; 
Hence let the world give thee the toast. 
Old Pennsy! 



A MODERN MUSE. 61 

And should, same day, the monarch Fate, 
Pluck down the flag from Freedom's gate, 
Of all the stars it wears to-day. 
Be thine the last to fade away, 
Old Pennsy! 



DEATH OF GOETHE. 

/Wl ORE light! More light! That restless 

spirit cried, 
As clouds of death drew round him dark and 

wide. 
Now, mighty Goethe, sinks thine ardent fire, 
As Death bears off the last note of thy lyre. 
The bonds of nature loosed, thou seek'st the 

vast unknown, 
Where even poet's Fancy dreads to walk 

alone. 
Now closed life's book and earthly wisdom, 

thou, 
A shadow art to Goethe's wisdom now. 
More light ! O soul of his, drink now thy fill ! 
Infinity remains unfathomed still. 
O soul of man ! O wondrous spirit ! Death the 

sage, 
Will ope eternity, teach Wisdom's grandest 

page. 



MELODIES OF 

WANDERER'S PRAYER. 

pvARKNESS fast is shrouding 
Yonder twilight-sky; 
All the world is sleeping, 
Sad alone am I. 

Here are hemlocks sighing, 
In the grave-yard old; 

While I too, am dreary, 
Shiv'ring in the cold. 

Hail, bright star, so lonely, 

In the distant West, 
Lead me on, I pray thee, 

To eternal rest ! 

Lo ! The bright star falleth! 

— Wand'rer's soul has fled !- 
There a corpse he lieth, 

Sleeping with the dead ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 63 

SPIRIT OF THE MINNESINGERS. 

/^^ONE are all the minnesingers! 
^"^ Deep in their graves they lie; 
Hushed their voices and the fingers 

That once woke melody 
In love-fed Europe's bowers, 

Can swell no more the lyre 
Or raise hot passion's fire 

In grey old castle towers. 
Thro' the by-gone Middle Ages 

Did their sweet music chime; 
As we look upon their pages, 

We think of thnt fair time 
When Love was ruler ever 

In yonder transatlantic 
Europe's bowers romantic. 

By some enchanted river. 
But, though the Minnesingers 

Forgotten are and dead, 
Yet their spirit unseen lingers 

Where Beauty 's born and bred. 
And when we sing soft praises 

To maidens' charms and powers, 
Or seek to make them ours 

Love's voice that spirit raises. 



64 MELODIES OF 



NAPOLEON ON THE BELLEROPHON. 



A LL about the white sea roars 

And day is fading fast; 
Far away from Gallia's shores 
And struggling 'gainst the blast 

Sails the Bellerophon. 
Like an eagle with his prey 
She bears away 
Napoleon. 

Farewell, Napoleon Bonaparte ! 

Farewell, O Gallia's warlike heart ! 
Farewell, O genius sprung 

From Corsica's sun-kissed shore! 

The cannon's song, so often sung 
Thou hence shah hear no more ! 
For Albion's ire 
Shall spend its fire 

On thy unconquered will 
Till soon thou lay 
Far, far away 
At the foot of some wooded hill. 



A MODERN MUSE. 

Then, bear him gently, murmuring wave 

O'er the wild sea, blue and deep; 
Bear him kindly to his grave 
There peaceful may he sleep ! 
And o'er his tomb, 
Soft 'mid the gloom 
i.Iay Helena's sighing trees 
Sing to him his victories. 



BEAUTIFUL ALLEGHANY. 

pROUD old river, thou that chantest 

Songs so gay and free, 
To thy woodland and thy valleys, 
Many a century; 

Often hast thou heard the war-whoop, 

Ring upon thy shore, 
Where now strong the pale-face dwelleth 

And grim Vulcan's forges roar. 

Coming from thy sylvan birth-place — 

From the distant North, 
Thou dost hear the lonely night-owl 

Give her sorrows forth. 



66 MELODIES OF 

Thou art queen of gentle rivers I 

And the pines stoop low, 
When they hear thy royal footstep, 

And thy garments flow. 

Often, native graceful river, 

Have I gave gazed on thee; 

As thou threw'st thy curly wavelets 
'Round thee am'rously. 

So flow on, mild Alleghany, 

With soft, romantic rhyme ! 

Wander long thro' wooded landscape, 
Heed not draughts of time ! 



■ >— I — 

VENICE. 

WENICE ! Venice ! Lovely sea- nymph, mer- 
maid fair and bright. 

Queenly seemest thou beneath the starry roof 
of night ! 

Often doth to thee the sea his am'rous tale 
repeat, 



A MODERN MUSE. 67 

Falling down adoringly to kiss thy chastened 

feet. 
While the moon, in silver clad, thy watery 

streets doth wade, 
Casts her jealous eye on thee and many a 

lovely maid. 
Hark ! How soft the breezes bear unto my 

willing ears. 
Laughter of thy black-eyed daughters, songs 

of gondohers. 
Quaint old city, thou and haunt of poet's fair- 
est dreams. 
How my heart beats gayly when thy vision on 

me streams ! 
Let me praise thee long as doth the wanton 

love-sick sea: 
Be thou mother to my dreams, fair daughter 

of Italy ! 



68 MELODIES OF 

JEHOVAH'S MIGHT. 

I WILL not brave Thy wise commands 
O mighty Elo"him, who hold'st our globe. 
Aglow with life, within Thy hands. 
Thou, great Jehovah, dost the seasons robe 
With varied splendor and Thy power 

Shines thro' the working of each hour. 

The million planets praise Thee, Lord, 
Which in the boundless firmament rehearse 

Their daily actions in concord. 
O vast, stupendous, giant Universe ! 
Great off -spring of the Maker's will, 

Which liveth unexhausted still. 

And helpless man, lost 'mid the mass 

Of countless things created, thy weak force 

Of what avail, if He, alas! 
Should strike the rolling planets from their 

course 
And rain their wrath on thee ? Hence bow 

With starry wonders to His brow . I 



A MODERN MUSE. 69 

TALE OF THE WIND. 

UAR out in the sea, where the breakers do 

meet, 
Their tales of destruction so boldly repeat; 
Where lonely the stars look down from the 

sky 
And murmuring sadly the South-winds pass 

by; 
There sheeted and shrouded and dancing so 

lightly, 
Wild spirits appear and they revel there 

nightly. 
And all in the dancing and revelry join — 
The ghosts of the dead of the fated Bourgogne. 

There far, far away at the hours of night, 
Revengeful and tearful they curse the sea's 

might — 
Fair maidens, meek matrons, gay sailors and 

men 



70 MELODIES OF 

Whose bodies lie now in the deep's horrid 

den. 
Now moan they aloud, recalling with sorrow 
The turbulent scene of that fatal morrow, 
When creakingly, slowly the vessel sank low 
In the slime of the sea, where dread monsters 

grow. 

But lo ! When the stars all fade in the dome. 
And day wakes again in his far eastern home; 
When loudly the sea-gulls murmur and shriek, 
The breakers again conspiringly speak; 
Then deep comes a wail from cavern-beds 

hollow; 
Up rises a billow ! Lo ! Others then follow! — 
But led by a cherub or some gentle fay. 
Those phantoms to spirit-land scamper away. 



THE TYRA.NTS OF THE HEART. 

I ET me sing a land, whose worth 
^ Greater is than that of earth; 
In fair portions set apart — 

All is named the human heart. 
Passions are the land-lords fine; 



A MODERN MUSE. 71 

Unto these doth life assign 
Each and all an equal share, 

Ah ! Strong rulers govern there ! 

First is Love, the maiden sweet, 

Fair of form with smiles replete; 
Clad in vestment of the snow, 

Flaxen tresses softly flow. 
Kiss the blushes on her cheek, 

Praised be Love ! Her reign is meek. 
And within her kingdom fair, 

Grows no pain, nor woe, nor care; 
But glad thoughts do blossom pure, 

And with these doth Love allure; 
They are nurtured by the streams — 

Hope and dews of youthful dreams. 
Oft doth music with her flute 

To dame Love pay just tribute; 
While in merry play and shout 

Gay young Cupids dance about. 
Soft idyllic as the May, 

Love's fair realm has endless day; 
Ah ! No fairer realm is seen, 

Than thine own, O heart's best Queen! 



MELODIES OF 

Next comes Pride, whose broad domain 

Boasts best honors of the plain. 
Builds his home of splendor all, 

Woe to him if that should fall ! 
Oft he rides on summer-day, 

Of his land makes vain survey; 
Scorns young Labor, Care and Pain, 

Pomp and power is all his gain. 
Pride, a tyrant lord art thou, 

Draw'st the sweat from Labor's brow 

Weak-souied Avarice, friend of Pride, 

Hath his kingdom by his side; 
Mines rich-wombed in pearl and gold, 

Yet he is most stern and cold. 
Oft doth he a beggar-saint 

Of his poortith make complaint. 
And in spite of all his pelf, 

This grim master starves himself. 

Bold Ambition, too, doth reign; 

Honors follow in his train. 
At his chariot Justice bound. 

Hears the mock-crowd's jeering sound; 
But she walks without demur 



A MODERN MUSE. 73 

For to grace her conqueror. 
Rapine, Havoc loud proclaim 

Praises for Ambition's name. 
Ah ! Rash tyrant ! Thou shalt see 

Nature never destined thee 
For a life of honeyed ease, 

Never sought thy will to please; 
But with restless longing hurled 

Break-neck speedest thro' the world, 
Till thyself forsooth, art laid 

In the ditch for others made. 

Nor canEnvy, tortured soul, 

O'er her longing hold control. 
Bleak and barren are her lands. 

Honors thrive not at her hands; 
Now doth she to Love repair, 

Notes the peace and pleasures there; 
Or she sends the dwarfish spy — 

Treacherous Hypocrisy; 
Smooth of tongue and fair of eyes, 

Speaketh though most serpent-wise. 
Now she passeth unto Pridt, 

And her grimace scarce can hide. 



74 MELODIES OF 

When she sees the wealth and power 

Of this ruler haughty — sour. 
Tortured by an endless thirst; 

Envy, Envy, thou art cursed ! 
And dull mistress, fie ! Thy shame ! 

Slanderest fair maiden Fame. 
Yet thou too shalt soon expire, 

Murdered by thy very ire. 

See yon plumed knight pass by, 

Decked in all so pompously 1 
From his eye shines bold distrust, 

He is named the rapcr — Lust. 
O foul tyrant ! Cursed be thoul 

Whither go'st thou seeking now? 
Stainer thou of chastity, 

Half the world is owned by thee. 
Not content with maiden's vows, 

Flatter est thy would-be spouse: 
But when passion has beed fed, 

To thy dungeon she is led; 
Where she can but stay and die, 

Poisoned by thy damned lie. 



A MODERN MUSE. 75 

Often too, dost Love decoy 

And her maiden charms employ, 
But to catch our sisters fair 

And to rape fhem in thy lair. 
Filthy Lust, thine ev'ry breath 

Is the atmosphere of death. 
When false passion set afire 

By thine own unshamed desire, 
Doth invade thy wretched frame, 

All thy strength grows feebly tame. 
Thou shalt be, though young — all cold 

And foul and horrid to behold. 
Thus thyself shalt punished be 

For the crimes that spring from thee. 



These the passions which abide 

In the heart with more beside. 
Yet think not the world is lost 

Though it be thus passion-tossed. 
God, the primal, boundless cause, 

Has implanted His wise laws 
Deep in Nature's sterhng heart; 

O creation's better part ! 
And t' obey them, man or woman, 

Is to be but simply human. 



76 MELODIES OF 

But to qiiell the passions fine 
Is a mark of the Divine. 

Keep thou then, by deep reflection, 
These strong rulers in subjection; 

And of empires thou shalt call 
Heart's own empire — best of all. 



GLORY IS MORTAL. 



A URORA, open up thy golden gates, 

And bid me enter thy fair eastern realm ! 
Here sits thy wealth; O wondrous wealth 

with which 
Old am'rous Jove hath decked thy wonted 
haunts, / 

O blest Aurora ! 



See there, by Phoebus' graceful finger traced, 
Sit gilded hills and slumber-drinking vales; 
Broad plains, a-quaffing of the limpid dews 
Which nymphs, like hyssop, strew before thy 
feet 
O fair Aurora ! 



A MODERN MUSE. 77 

And there the waking forests feel thy breath; 
While willing birds begin their hymn to thee; 
And man deserts his mistress — Sleep — for thy 
Embrace; all nature greets thy joyous march 
O great Aurora ! 

Yet goddess, all thy splendor is shoit-lived! 
For soon the vast blue vault turns dark and 

stern, 
Thy former home is plundered by rude storms, 
Quick lightnings, thunders; thou art nowhere 
found — 
How short is glory ! 

Moral: Such is life. 



RETROSPECT. 



r^ LADSOME hath our Fancy wandered 
^-^ 'Mid flowered wealth profuse; 
And we leave with mingled sorrow 
This Garden of the Muse. 



4,dra 



78 MELODIES OF A MODERN MUSE. 

Where we spend the pleasant hours 

And love to Hnger long; 
Where we make of visions joyful 

A healthy wreath of song. 

And we think here at the parting, 
How care-worn hearts may be 

Cheered by these small gleanings 
Of maiden Poesy. 

Fare ye well, O pleasant flowers, 
Whose splendor doth confuse ! 

Till again our Fancy visit 

The Garden of the Muse. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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